


the art of aristocratic disdain

by a_little_epiphany



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: I swear when I wrote this I thought it had good characterization, Mild Angst, Oops, Other, Self-Hatred, based off lots of personal headcanons, i was lying to myself, its basically just kyoutani complimenting/cursing yahaba at the same time, lol, mention of drugs, mention of suicide, please don't read if it's triggering!, sorry - Freeform, the kyouhaba is only there if you squint haha, there's nothing graphic but it does mention stuff, why is why I didn't tag it but, you don't necessarily have to agree with them to read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7497906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_little_epiphany/pseuds/a_little_epiphany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kyoutani kentarou wasn't always kyoutani kentarou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the art of aristocratic disdain

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I wrote this a while back, based off personal headcanons, thinking: Wow, this is great! I'm so good at writing Kyoutani!
> 
> Yeah, no. I mean I don't think I'm horrible but it's probably at least a bit OOC. And if so could you tell me what parts you thought were OOC? Thank you!
> 
> Haha, but I decided to post this anyway! Haikyuu!! is currently my main fandom, so it's very possible I'll be writing more stuff! Also, I don't know where the title came from?? But I thought it sounded cool so!!!
> 
> (Wow I'm so awkward oh gosh)
> 
> Anyways, this is my first work here so... Here goes! And please make sure you don't read if it's triggering!

 

Fujimoto Nobuhiko was the name I was given at birth. I was a stupid kid, stupidly naive and normal. I was brash, but I still am, it was a trait instilled in me since I was born; I had to be brash because I had to make an impression strong enough to overrule my mother's. It just stuck, I guess. Everyone thinks I'm a rude kid, though. And they're too nosy, always wanting to know why I stay away from everyone.

My hair's blond, now, but I had really dark hair when I was younger. There's a reason behind that, but besides said reason, I needed a new identity.

I didn't have a "loving" childhood. I grew up with hardly any care or support. When I was pretty young, like, 3, my parents had this huge fight over debts and my dad left the house very often. He was a deadbeat man, and I honestly wish the worst for him. One day, he just walked out and cheated on my mom. He didn't even fucking officially end his relationship with my mom, but he continued to cheat in her with another woman until he decided to divorce her and remarry that other girl. Then he left, forever. I was angry. I still am. He calls, sometimes. I'm proud to say I've never picked up. I don't fucking care what he was to say, he's an asshole.

But to be fair, my mother wasn't too much better. When my dad was cheating on her, she began increasing her alcohol intake to a dangerous amount. She was almost always intoxicated and she hit me a lot and screamed. I hated it when she screamed. It was the worst. I would come to school with lots of bruises and play it off as falling down a lot and getting into fights (not that that was too far-fetched, anyhow). She would get high on a multitude of drugs and would take one too many pills. She grew depressed. But I expected the beatings. I greeted them with dull eyes and fake smiles and tears. Lots of tears. As they became more consistent, they became more bearable. I could deal with them because they were very predictable. On most occasions she would blame me for my dad leaving and marrying that other woman. "You should have known!" "You knew her, didn't you?!" "Answer me, you fucking shit-head!" "Do you like her more than your own mother, do ya? You fucker!"

And the worst: " **I wish I'd never given birth to a weakling like you!** "

It was the worst because I believed I deserved it. I believed every word that spewed from her lips. She was right, I was a weakling. Maybe, deep down, I still do believe those things, under the crude words and gruff exterior. She called me useless, so I was. She called me a screw-over, a fucked up, horrible boy, so that's what I became. That was all I could be, because that's what she told me.

When she was sober, she was nice. She was a nice woman, but not when she was drunk or high. She would hug me and bake me chocolate chip cookies and run up to me with that excited gleam in her eye about how she got a new job at the convenience store or whatever. The jobs never lasted long, though, because soon enough she was back to normal. I loved her when she was like that, though. She would ask for my help in the kitchen and we'd make a mess and end up covered in something or the other but we'd laugh about it and clean up and eat the food. My mom was an amazing cook when she tried. I liked to help her with the cooking. It was fun, peaceful. We could pretend like we were a normal family.

One day, she was sober and she bought us tickets to a national volleyball tournament. I didn't really have an interest in the sport, but I went with her anyway. We got to hold hands and have hot-dogs and hear the squeaking of shoes on a gym floor. We could pretend we were good, that it was all good. It was good. Nobody knew what went on behind closed doors, and god, I hope no one ever will. But there, there in front of me was no. 4, and I could smile wide and wish I could be like him. He was powerful. He was powerful, and I was Fujimoto Nobuhiko, a fucking weakling. That day, I made a vow. I would become strong — and I did fulfill that, later, I would always remember that day. Because it was one of the last days I'd ever see my mother. After three volleyball games, she suddenly got up and left. I figured she'd went to the washroom. I was so wrong. I ended up going home alone that day.

Of course, she came back eventually, drugged and naked and bloody. I never felt so terrified. I took her in and fixed her up and I've fixed my own wounds ever since that day. She stayed at home all the time, blank and expressionless and unresponsive. I didn't know what to do, so each day, I went to school and left her like that. Every time I came back, I was scared I'd open the door and she's be gone. But everyday, without fail, I could find her there when I came back.

Walking home was easily the part I hated the most. I hated being lonely. I was a clingy boy, and that was my downfall. I was weak like that. One day, a tall man offered to walk home with me. That little voice in the back of my head whispered: " _Don't talk to strangers,_ " but I didn't listen, I never did, and oh my god, I should've. I remember darkness and lots of screaming, mostly my own, and being surrounded in a pool of blood, and being raped and tortured and I'm **never, ever** going to recover from that. Then, I was left to die on the streets, but I picked myself up and found my way home. Funny thing is, I always did.

I returned home, but for once, my mom wasn't there. I was already numb. I don't think I even cared at that point. She never came back home. I cried a lot. I stopped going to school. No one came to look for me. I managed the household by myself. Then, a few weeks later after her mysterious disappearance, I found the suicide note. But for the first time in a long time, I didn't cry. A long time ago, my mother taught me desire was the root of willpower. If I was useless — and I had trusted those words, because my mom was smart and _never, ever_ wrong — what would I have even been able to do, to change her mind?

That was the day I became strong.

Fujimoto Nobuhiko was a weakling. Kyoutani Kentarou wasn't.

I lived by myself, and depended on no one. I didn't make any friends, I didn't need them. If they got too close, they would figure me out. And that was the least of my worries. My dad came to visit every so often. He wanted to make amends, but I laugh in his face and shut the door every time. He still comes back. It seems he's strong, too. I still cry, sometimes. I might be strong now, but the haunting memories of my childhood make me melt back into Fujimoto Nobuhiko. I don't need that. I work a bunch of jobs outside of school, to keep the household running smoothly. My distant aunt, sister of my mother, sends over money often so I'm not stuck doing everything on my own. She knows what happened, but I'm not sure how. I dyed my hair blond, like no. 4. I started to play volleyball. It was... fun. I could say that honestly. But everyone thought my actions are too reckless. So now I had to fucking work on my "teamwork".

For high school, I chose to enrol into Aoba Johsai. The commute wasn't long, only about twenty minutes on foot. I did most of the paperwork, and got my aunt to sign some of it even though she wasn't my legal guardian. Unfortunately, I had to explain my situation to the school staff so they could accommodate to certain things (i.e I can't get my parents to sign so I can go on field trips and shit. Why do we even take those in high school?). They all take pity on me though, it's gross. Luckily, no one knew me previously.

There, I met Yahaba Shigeru. I think I hated him, but not for the reasons I pretended to hate him.

I hated him because he reminded me of me as a kid. Naive, weak, but intelligent all the same. He was a favourite for captain next year, not that I cared, and he was like Oikawa in terms of nice hair and pretty-boy smiles, but he instilled hope in a way Oikawa didn't. Ironically, he only brought me despair. Then, while we were playing an important match against Karasuno, he stood up to me and told me to get my fucking get my head in the game and not mess it up for our senpais.

That's when I knew I was wrong. He wasn't weak. And that's why we're different.

I hate it.

I hate being so fucking weak, but I'm working on it. I hate me, but so does everyone else. I'll try, though... I'll try to get along with everyone. (Key word, _try_. It's not that I don't want to get along with others, but I had literally little to no experience with generally good human beings. So a lot of the time, either my selective mutism kicked in, or I got too brash and had to be calmed down. But hey at least people talked to me, then, without running away in fear or whispering behind my back.)

And when my hand smacks against the cool, hard surface of the volleyball, sending it flying at spectacular angles, and the roar of the crowd and the screams of my name, I can almost smile. My life as Fujimoto Nobuhiko was weak, and my life as Kyoutani Kentarou is weak, too, but because I can admit that, I'm strong.

Stronger than I've ever been before. I still hate being weak, and I still hate being me, but I can change that.

Goodbye forever, Fujimoto Nobuhiko. Hopefully, that's the last time I'll ever hear of you. I hate you so, so much.

I'm Kyoutani fucking Kentarou, and you better remember that name.

Kyoutani Kentarou was who I wanted to be, and Kyoutani Kentarou was who I became.

Kyoutani Kentarou will be who I am when I die.

 


End file.
